


Mother - The Xtra Bits

by maccom



Series: Perfect Strangers [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: BDSM, Consensual Sex, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sensation Play, Switching, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), butt stuff, switch!Emet is best Emet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21937753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccom/pseuds/maccom
Summary: The explicit parts that were cut from Mother in the name of plot and pacing - presented like so, these are essentially PWP one-shots. If you've read Mother and wanted to know what happens between the cuts, success! If you haven't read Mother and just want some smut, that works too!If you’re here for plot and character development there’s a teensy bit in chapters 4 and 5; otherwise this is skippable in the Perfect Strangers series.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Series: Perfect Strangers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571320
Comments: 16
Kudos: 188





	1. Pendants

Their first time is slow, steady, careful. He conjures dark ropes from aether, ties them around her wrists, her ankles, her torso. He weaves them, knots them, wraps them round her like a gift bound and tied, all the while leaving tantalizing glimpses of skin to see and touch. She is quiet under his hands; she watches him work without a word. 

When he is sure the knots will hold he takes a step back to admire his handiwork. Her dark eyes follow him as he moves to the side of the bed, removes his gloves, and leans over to softly swipe at the wetness gathered between her legs. She gasps as her whole body tightens, shivering, but she is aware enough to follow his hand, to watch him delicately lick every finger clean.

“All for me,” he murmurs, and enjoys hearing her whimper. “Good girl.”

“Emet -”

He rests one long finger on her lips, silencing her. “Did I ask you to talk?” He slips the tip of his finger into her mouth, humming appreciatively as she sucks, as her tongue twirls around it. Watching her eyes, he snaps his free hand’s fingers and his heavy robes vanish, leaving him just as naked as her. Her moan vibrates around his finger as her gaze roams over him, settling between his hips. 

“I’m of a mind to enjoy you,” he says quietly, taking a seat on the bed beside her. “You are in no rush, I hope?” She begins to shake her head and he moves his hand from her mouth, quick as lightning, to grab her chin. “You’ll respond when I ask you a question, yes? Like a good girl?”

“Yes.”

“Yes…?”

The look in her eyes sends butterflies right to his stomach. “Yes, Emet-Selch.”

“That’s better.” Letting go of her chin, he moves his hand lower, trailing down her neck and over the ropes that bind her chest. Cupping one breast, he watches her reaction as his thumb flicks her nipple back and forth, enjoying how she arches her back up, how her cheeks flush, how her tongue darts out to dampen dry lips. With his hand still playing with one breast, he licks the other. She moans, arching her back even tighter, and he takes her nipple between his lips to gently, gently suck. 

“Oh, gods _._ ” 

He glances up as he plays with her. She’s panting, her eyes closed as she focuses on sensations; her bound hands slowly open and close as though wanting to grab for him. He can imagine her fingers in his hair, pressing him closer, and files that thought away. Right now he wants her bound - he wants her beneath him, wants her at his mercy. 

It has been such a long time since he's had a chance to play. 

“Ah, little Warrior, you are a sight.” He sits up and lets his eyes devour her, taking in her flushed skin, taught muscles, and that wetness, that warmth, that enticing vertex between her thighs. His hand slides down her stomach and her breathing hitches; he sees her head angle up to watch as he slowly - ever so slowly - presses a finger against her slit. She moans low in her throat and he grits his teeth as his cock throbs. 

Not now. Not yet. 

“You do like to be teased, don’t you?” He cups her, holding his full hand against her warmth, and watches her shiver. “You want more?”

“Please - _please_!”

He tilts his head to one side as his middle finger circles, circles, circles. Slowly but persistently, spreading that wetness across her folds, touching her clit on every upwards movement. She _whines_ at this, pulling hard against her ropes, and he presses his free hand against her stomach to hold her down. 

“What do you want, little Warrior?” His voice is a croon, an innocent singsong pitched so, so low. “Tell me.”

“Please, just - a touch -“

“A touch?” The tip of his finger pauses at her entrance. “Like - _this_?” Moving at glacial speeds he sinks into her, spreading her, feeling her warmth take him, constrict, and pulse. She takes him right to his knuckle, shivering as his palm rests on her clit. “So quick to beg - you don’t think I’ll allow you your release anytime soon, do you?”

Her body goes limp and she groans, shaking her head back and forth.

“Good.” He removes his finger and holds it before her; he can’t look away from her eyes as her mouth opens, as her tongue laps at his hand. “Ah, what a treat you are, Warrior of Light - _my_ treat.” He leans back and takes his cock on one hand, gently stroking it. Her eyes follow his hand, watching as he pleasures himself. The sight of her complicates his own breathing, but he knows his limits.

He knows where he wants to take this.

A snap of his fingers and one of her hands is free. Unconsciously she reaches for him; her out-stretched hand stops before they touch, as she realizes he has given no instructions.

“Play with yourself, little Warrior,” he orders softly, his eyes on hers. “I told you I like to watch.”

She hesitantly moves her hand toward her hips, faltering as she reaches the juncture between her legs.

“I won’t believe you’ve never done _this_ before.” He lets go of himself and twists on the bed, lying beside her with his head propped up on one arm. His mouth is at level with her breasts and he takes full advantage of that, sucking hard on the nipple closest to him. Her moan carries through the room. “Touch yourself.”

His gaze is on her hand as she gently brings her fingers to her folds, as she pulses around her clit in small, perfect circles. Any hesitation vanishes as her need takes over; she plays with herself without reservation, her moans and gasps heightening as he sucks at her breasts, licking and catching her skin between his teeth.

“You want to come, don’t you?” He trails up her neck with his mouth as his hips twist, pressing his cock against her thigh. “Use your words, little Warrior.”

“I do,” she whispers, her eyes closed as her fingers move faster. “I do, _I do_.”

“Stop.”

She does so with a sob, her fingers shaking as she holds them in the air. Her whole body begins to shudder and she closes her eyes, muttering curses under her breath. She barely notices when he grabs her wrist and pulls it towards him - but her moan when he sucks her juices off her fingers ends in a whine.

“The Warrior of Light bound beside me, craving my cock.” He guides her free hand to himself, exhaling sharply when her fingers curl around him and tighten. “Imagine if anyone knew! Imagine if the world could see you now.” He muffles a moan as she strokes him; it has been so long since he’s felt anything like this. “You’re _mine_ , little Warrior. Mine to tease, mine to play with - mine to own.” To accentuate his point his slides two fingers inside of her, pumping repeatedly. Her eyes roll back as her mouth falls open, but he doesn’t relent. He keeps his speed steady, driving her up - up - up - 

“I - I’m going to -”

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, rolling on top of her. “Not yet.” Her face is red, her pupils blown wide, her lips swollen from her own teeth - and he wants this, wants so much more of her. 

“Please -”

“I’m going to untie some of the ropes,” he says, keeping his weight on her. “Your angle is wrong for what I have in mind.”

She nods, though her eyes are glassy. Magic frees her wrists and ankles; her first reaction is to curl towards him but he doesn’t let her. He rolls off the bed and grabs her legs, dragging her so she’s parallel to the bottom of the bed.

“On your stomach.”

She rolls without a single word, placing her hands palm down against the bedspread on either side of her chest. Her legs dangle off the side of the bed; it would only take her a little effort to touch the ground. 

“Good girl.” He slaps her ass - not too hard, just enough to jostle her, to make her gasp in surprise. He slaps her again, earning a moan, and then his fingers are back spreading wetness between her folds. “You’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she moans, pushing her toes down to the ground so she can raise her ass higher in the air. “Please, Emet-Selch, please -”

“Tell me what you want.”

She twists her head back to look at him; through the desire that glazes her eyes he catches a hint of fire, the promise of steel.

As submissive as she appears, she wants to challenge him. 

He leans over her back, his fingers still deep inside her as his cock brushes against her backside. “Tell me, little Warrior.”

“You,” she whispers, that light in her eyes drawing him in.

Another slap across her ass makes her eyelids flutter. “How long have you wanted me? How long have you waited?”

“Since that first day, near Syrcus Tower.” She grinds her hips back against him, taking his fingers right to the knuckles. “I wondered how you might taste.”

His jaw drops as his need sharpens, as his focus reorients itself. “There, with all the Scions around you? With talk of compromises and the end of the world, you wanted my cock in your mouth?”

“Mmm,” she hums, a sleepy-eyed grin on her face. “Tall men with long fingers are rather - _distracting_ , I find.” He twitches those long fingers of his, moving them faster, and she gasps. “I thought I’d have to work harder to convince you, truth be told.”

“I am ever one to rise to the challenge - and mounting you, Warrior, will be something new entirely.” He slides his slick fingers free and takes his cock in hand, lining the head of it up to her very wet opening. “You’re dripping, little Warrior.”

“Said as though he didn’t do that himself,” she murmurs, but some of her attitude fades as she feels him press against her, spread her. “Oh, gods, that’s really _you_. We’re really doing _this_. Ah, shit.”

He pauses, caught somewhere between lust and incredulous laughter. “Did you assume we would not?”

“No, this - this moment simply feels _forbidden_ , don’t you think?”

“Ah, _this_?” He slides deeper into her, feeling her warmth part for him, surround him, pulse around him as she shivers. “A champion of Zodiark and a daughter of Hydaelyn, doing _this_?” He moves closer, watching his cock disappear by inches. It’s an effort to keep his voice steady, an effort to maintain composure, but watching her struggle to follow along only heightens his own lust. “What would our companions think, to see me fucking you?”

“ _Gods_.” She shudders. “Do it - just - just _do it_ , please!”

Instead of moving to her, he jerks her hips backwards, forcing her to take him right to the hilt. She feels _so good_ wrapped around him; he finds himself taking a moment to blink, to breathe, to utter a silent thank-you to whichever fate placed him here on the First, and then he’s thrusting into her as hard as he can. Skin hits skin with a sound like a slap but he can barely hear it over her moans, her murmurs, her curses. 

Settling into a pace he can maintain, he snakes one hand around her hip and presses gently on her clit. Her moans jump an octave and he feels her spasm around him, the first hints that she is moving far too quickly. With his free hand he grabs at the rope crisscrossing her back and pulls her up and off the bed. Her hands fall to her thighs as he continues to thrust into her with her back against his chest.

“You weren’t thinking of coming, my dear?” His mouth is at her ear. “Not when I haven’t given permission?”

“No, no!”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you? You’ll do what I say?”

“Your good girl,” she gasps, before letting loose a particularly shrill shriek when his fingers begin to pulse a gentle beat against her clit. “Keep going, please, yes!”

He lets go of the rope around her and pulls her torso closer to him, tighter against his chest. He has to slow his pace to manage it, pulling back until only the tip of him touches her before hilting himself in her. “My good girl, yes, but I think you’re something else, too.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? You know what naughty girls like?” He brings his fingers to her lips. “They like to suck cock while they ride.”

“Emet-Selch!” She barely has time to gasp before he forces two fingers into her mouth. As long as his fingers are she takes them with ease, her tongue swirling around them so deftly he’s tempted to turn her around. 

There will be other nights for that. 

With one hand in her mouth, the other playing with her clit, and his cock buried in her dripping warmth, Emet-Selch is more than content to keep her like this. That flicker of her soul shines bright - not bright enough for him to recognize, alas, but enough for him to pretend she is whole. 

“Have you ever had two men at once?” he murmurs into her ear. “Have you ever felt that full?”

Shivers suddenly wrack her body; her moans become interspersed with whines. She clamps around him, so incredibly tight, and he removes his fingers from her mouth. 

“Ah, my little Warrior wants her release.” He lowers his teeth to her shoulder, nipping at her sweat-slicked skin. “You’ve been such a good girl - you deserve it.”

“Th-thank you, sir.”

He pushes her forward; her hands catch herself on the bed as he pistons himself into her. He pulls her hips onto him, grunting with every swing. “Touch yourself, little Warrior. Bring yourself over the edge.”

“Shit.” She struggles to stay up with only one hand to hold her, but she does as she’s ordered. “Oh, shit -"

She is _so loud!_ Her gasps and moans turn to cries, high-pitched exclamations he knows will carry through the walls. He thrusts even faster, harder, pushing her closer to that glorious free fall. 

He feels it moments before her voice hits a new high, feels her walls clamp around his cock like a vice as she throws her head back, as her mouth opens wide. 

“Yes, yes, _yes_! Emet-Selch, fuck!”

He lets her ride out her release, feels her spasm around him as she gasps for breath, keeps the movement going until she finally falls to the bed. His cock falls free of her as she curls into a ball, shudders still pulsing through her like aftershocks. He paces along the side of the bed, watching her come down from her high as an understanding begins to solidify. He isn’t sure what to name it, isn’t sure how to put it into words, but as she pants into the bedspread all he can think is -

_Mine._

“Was it good for you?” 

A laugh escapes her, a bewildered gasp of humour as she pushes herself into a sitting position. “You madman.”

“You have no idea. Lie on your back.”

She does, spreading her limbs into an X without having to be told. He conjures dark ropes for good measure, binding her wrists to the bedposts again. The hesitancy from before is gone - the nerves or doubt dispelled completely. She gazes at him hungrily, her eyes taking in his lithe frame as he crawls over her. He pushes her thighs back, bending her knees over her chest, and lines his cock up with her. 

“You’re a river,” he says, swiping his fingers between her folds. “You’d think I broke a dam.”

“You’re a tease,” she retorts. “If you’re done waxing poetic -“

He thrusts into her before she finishes the thought, grinding against her over and over as her eyes close. Her lips form a perfect circle, a tiny gasp of surprise, but then his gaze is taking in her bouncing chest, the old scars on her torso, the way her nails dig into her palms as he lowers himself over her. 

“A tease, am I?” His teeth nip at her neck. “Little Warrior, you haven’t even _begun_ to see what I can do.” He moves his hands on either side of her head, resting palms down on the bed to give him the leverage he needs to swing his hips in slow, powerful arcs. 

“Oh - oh - oh -“ 

Every slow thrust illicites a groan; her hands flutter uselessly, unable to reach for him and force him closer. 

“ _Mean_ ,” she murmurs. “I was good to you.”

“Am I not being good to you, little Warrior?”

Rather than reply she turns her head to the side; he realizes her intent a moment too late. Her teeth sink into his wrist without warning, pinching and holding him there with a burst of pain that forces his hips forward. 

His other hand is around her throat in moments. Her dark eyes slide to him, challenging, daring him to squeeze as her teeth hold him hostage. 

“This Warrior has sharp edges,” he murmurs, but then his tone changes. “Not again until you’re coming.”

Her eyes widen. She holds on a moment longer - bites a little harder - before releasing him. Her teeth marks remain and he stares at the indents, unsure if his lust can last much longer. 

He hadn't expected her to challenge him yet. He hadn’t expected any resistance. 

It makes him wonder how she’d fight. 

“Scream for me, little Warrior.”

Her eyes widen as he sets a new, heavy pace, plunging into her as deep as he can go. There is a moment of surprise, of silence, and then she tosses her head back and _yells_. 

Her warmth around him, the way her chest bounces and heaves, the incoherent nonsense falling from her lips, her glazed eyes holding on to his - and the knowledge, the remarkable fact, that this is Hydaelyn’s Warrior squirming beneath him - 

He does not last much longer. 

He covers her at the end, his mouth near her ear, and as her noises turn to babble and his own release threatens to rock him he feels her teeth take his shoulder just as she clenches around him for the second time. 

What a moment, what a breathless, thoughtless, euphoric moment. In that space before he exhales he is empty of everything save a strange kind of recognition, a fleeting feeling of remembrance, the idea that possibly - _possibly_ \- he has done this before. 

And then - 

Bliss. 


	2. Rak'tika

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an old version of how they first started talking to each other, after he saves Y'shtola. I really liked it, but the Emet-Selch in this isn’t _quite_ the Emet-Selch I was aiming for. He’s a little too eager, if that makes sense, but it made for a fun chapter and cutting most of it fucking _hurt._

The Scions had been surprised he’d offered to save their missing Miqo’te; he had as well, truth be told. Certainly he hadn’t planned for it, but was it not the perfect chance to display his generosity? What better method to convince them he could be cooperative than to pluck one of their best from the Lifestream?

It is strange to do good - to be thanked. 

He rather enjoys it.

“Emet-Selch.”

He does not startle, but he had assumed they had left him alone. To turn and find the greatest of their number - the saviour of Eorzea, Ishgard, Doma, and more besides - standing in front of him is a surprise. The forest is dense around them, though he knows the treetop village is not far.

He has avoided this. He has avoided _her_. Everything about her draws his attention and he has no idea why. They have barely spoken. He knows very little about her, other than the heroic tales he could not avoid hearing. She isn’t loud or abrasive, doesn’t speak ill of him, hasn’t done a single thing to earn either his favour or his ire - yet he catches himself staring. Her aether is familiar - as though she’d been someone he used to know, back before the world ended - but he cannot place her. If she is a sundered soul of his old world, she is too fragmented for him to recognize.

“Hero.” He sounds sufficiently bored, sufficiently disinterested. “Why do you linger?”

“To say thank you,” she says, her voice low. He can barely hear her over the sounds of the forest. “You did not have to help.”

Why does his heart beat so? What has earned this burst of nerves? Not her attention, surely. Not merely that. 

“I was able. It was no great feat.”

“Regardless. We would be much hindered without Y’shtola.”

He narrows his eyes. Though he recognizes this fact, it is odd for her to acknowledge it. “Are you not the Warrior of Light? Does this not depend entirely on you?”

“I am a small piece,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I am the hammer that hits the nail.”

“You sell yourself short.” Why is he defending her? “Does this analogy render me and mine the nail?”

There is a light in her eyes he does not understand. “You haven’t given me a reason to hit you.”

The “yet” is unspoken.

It should not excite him. It should not make his mouth water, his face flush, his stomach coil with nerves. It should not.

“I shall have to try harder.”

She raises an eyebrow and he looks away, cursing himself. He does not want to talk to her, to spend time with her, to _flirt_ with her. As much as she draws him in, he should have self-control enough for that!

“You aren’t comfortable around me.”

“You are the Ascian killer. It would be foolish of me to relax.” Not entirely a lie - and her expression says she knows it. “Why are you still here, hero?”

“If we are to travel together, we must needs be able to speak to one another.” Now it is her turn to look away; he does not miss the pink flush that colours her cheeks.

“Why?” He is not trying to be obtuse. Her insistence confuses him, worries him - he does not know if he trusts her, does not know if this is a trick. She does not seem the type to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes - but her behaviour is unusual.

She shrugs, a simple rolling of the shoulders that draws his gaze to her collarbone. “We are alike, are we not? Though the Scions are my companions and friends, you -” She stops, red-faced and flustered.

“I?” He takes a step towards her, head angled to one side. He doesn’t know what he wants her to say, doesn’t know why her opinion matters, but he finds himself wanting to give her reasons to keep talking.

The look she gives him rattles him. “You, too, are alone.”

Alone…?

“One of a kind,” she continues, her dark eyes watching him - judging him. “You and the other Ascians - you don’t speak often, do you? About your troubles, your thoughts, your fears? You plan and you plot, but when it comes to companionship - who do you have, Emet-Selch?”

There is no counter he can make. His mind stutters, gapes, reveals the truth he’s avoided for a very long time. How and why…?

“I believe there are other reasons I unnerve you.”

Oh.

“You _want_ , Emet-Selch. You _desire_. For all your reservation, you are not as subtle as you believe.” She is not horrified or disgusted, no - she is _amused_. “You have the power to take, yet you do not. Why?”

He cannot stop the shudder of disgust. That she would think him vile enough for _that_ \- “I am not an animal, no matter how black you think my heart.”

“Ah. So, freely offered, you might accept a proposition…?”

He looks at her - truly _looks_. She is not scared of him, not nervous being alone with him. There is a look in her dark eyes he has never seen before, a sleepy-eyed challenge. “Speak it.”

“Distract me.”

He blinks. “Beg pardon?”

“Distract me from all of this.” She gestures around her; he understands she does not mean Rak’tika. “Distract me from what comes. Distract me from the memories I can’t outrun. Keep my attention off of the fear of failure, even for a moment, and I’ll do the same for you.” She shifts her stance, raises her chin. “You want to.”

What dream has he wandered into? What alternate reality clouds his vision? She watches him, waiting for his answer, and he cannot find it in him to deny her accusation. He _does_ want her. 

“You would trust an Ascian?”

“You would trust the Warrior of Light?” She moves closer, shortening the gap; she is almost close enough to touch. Her voice is husky, rough; her eyes are dark, hooded, challenging - and yet… “Catch me, Emet-Selch. Catch me before you lose this chance.”

He is upon her in a heartbeat, continuing his momentum until her back hits a nearby tree. Their mouths meet and she is just as heated as he is, just as desperate. She moans into him, relinquishes any authority and gives up to him. His hands cover her, pressing, griping, coveting. His teeth bite and tongue tastes as her hands press against his chest, pull at his robes, wander through his layers. 

He is not _that_ easy.

Spinning her around, he holds her against the tree with one hand as the other digs under her robes. She gasps as she realizes his intention, but - rather than pull away - she arches her back, widens her stance, allows him access. He cups her, feels her warmth, listens to her breathing change as he gently rubs his fingers against her slit. She pushes into him, feeling his cock against her back, cursing under her breath when he carefully parts her folds.

“Sufficiently distracting?” he murmurs, sliding his fingers into her dripping warmth.

“A promising start,” she replies, her voice low, teasing. “I - _ah_ \- I have no complaints.”

No complaints! Ah, this woman, this Warrior, this wonder - she is not what he expected, no, but he is more than willing to work with this. He leans towards her, intending to ask her preference, when the sound of distant voices reaches his ears.

They are calling for her. The Scions are searching.

The glamour is effortless; the air around them shimmers, settles. To the two of them it looks no different. To the approaching Scions - 

“They cannot see us,” he whispers in her ear. His fingers play with her, pulse inside her.

“ _Gods_ ,” she whispers back. “I didn’t think -”

He covers her mouth with his free hand. “They can still hear us.”

Her moan is immediately too loud, too obvious, but he loves it, wants more of it, wants to hear every sound she can make, every curse she knows. Keeping his hand on her mouth, he presses against her back, curving her into him and away from the tree. He takes a step back and they can clearly see the advancing search party: the two elder males - the stargazer and Lahabrea’s puppet.

“Imagine if I dropped the glamour,” he murmurs. “Do they know what you crave? Do they have any idea how hungry you are?” He drops his hand from her mouth to her breast.

“P-please,” she stammers, and whimpers as the blond one turns their way. “Don’t -”

“‘Don’t’?” Don’t _what_ , hero? Don’t continue?” He pulls his fingers free of her. “Should I stop?”

“No.” She curses again. “Please - please, I want to -”

Rather than return his fingers whence they came, he opts to put pressure against her, moving his hand in slow, purposeful circles. She swallows a moan and shivers against him.

“You want this, don’t you? You want to be mine - you want to be used.” He can see the men coming closer and increases his speed. “You could have gone to any man - any would have been honoured to have you.” They are close, so near; he lowers his voice to a whisper. “But you came to _me_. Do you know why?”

His hands have rendered her mute; she can only shake her head.

“You want to be _bad_ , hero.”

“Oh _gods_ -”

“What was that?”

They both freeze as the two Scions halt nearby. He can feel her breathing, her shivering, her fingers gripping at his wrists. He is hard, eager for her - but he knows this meeting is not for him. He dips his fingers back into her warmth as the Scions look on, unseeing, and her shudder convinces him.

Next time he will have his fill of her.

“Gah, a trick of the wind.” The blond one, the puppet, turns away. “Mayhap the others have found her. Let us return to Fanow.”

She is so, so close. She shudders against him, her breath coming in ragged waves through clenched teeth. He pushes her further, bringing her almost to the edge - and then stops entirely.

After many long, _long_ moments, the other Scion follows the first. Emet-Selch watches them go, watches their quiet walk to the distant tree-top village. He waits - 

And he waits - 

And still he waits - 

_“Please!”_

He laughs as he finally brings her over the edge.


	3. Crystarium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the battle in Lakeland, Emet-Selch finds himself alone with the Warrior of Light in Syrcus Tower. There is no voice of reason that can withstand temptation, not now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a superb "kneel" scene, please watch Fleabag. I mean, Fleabag should be watched in its entirety for many reasons, but if "kneel" does to you what it does to me I'm just saying it's worth it.

In the impossible stillness at the bottom of Syrcus Tower, he whispers one word.

“Kneel.”

She drops to her knees without hesitation, her dark eyes never leaving his. Her hands push at his robes, clearing them to the sides to pull down the hem of his undergarments. She doesn’t bat an eye as his cock falls free, doesn’t hesitate for a moment before her hands are around it, stroking it, squeezing it. There’s a look in her eyes he cannot break away from, a devious glint that promises much. 

Winding his fingers through her hair, he widens his stance. “Go on,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Finish what you started.”

Her mouth envelopes him before he can give her another order; her head bobs repeatedly as she swallows him. Her eyes hold his as her hands follow her lips. It’s a relentless assault and he’s caught completely off-guard - what she’d done to him that morning had been slow, careful, contained. Her movements now have an end-goal: he has no doubt she wants him to finish here and now, standing where they could both be found.

“What a beautiful Warrior,” he says softly, never taking his eyes off hers. “What a sight you are with your mouth full.”

In response she drops his cock with a quiet pop, using her wet lips to plant damp kisses over the head, trailing down the shaft and back again before finally sticking out her tongue to lap against the tip.

He groans and bites his lip to cut off the sound, but the echo of it reverberates back to them and makes her move even faster. She’s moaning too, little sounds that vibrate down his shaft, that fill him with desire. She forgoes the gentle licking to swallow him whole, gagging herself on his length. He curses and holds onto her head as she pulls back, never letting him go, her cheeks narrow as she maintains suction, as her head drops back down his length. It’s an incredible feeling made even better as she brings her tongue into the mix, pressing hard against the bottom of his cock and dragging it up the length.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “I think I like you best on your knees.”

She pulls her mouth off of him again, letting a trail of saliva drip down her chin. “I can think of a few better positions.”

His fingers tighten in her hair. He’s thought of many, but - not _here_. He cannot undress her in Syrcus Tower, cannot be any more obvious than this. The risk is high and he must have _some_ self-control - mustn’t he?

“Later,” he says, and he means it. “Open wide, my Warrior - finish me before we’re found and I’ll repay the favour.”

She raises an eyebrow as her hands pull at him. “And if I want to be found?”

The moan that escapes him carries through the tower as her lips part for him again. She hums around him as her head bobs back and forth; he curses under his breath and closes his eyes, throwing his head back as her hot mouth takes him over, and over, and over. When he opens his eyes its to the blue and gold decor, the wide open space, the reminder that they are very, very public - the Exarch only needs to step outside his Ocular and he could no doubt hear them.

“Faster,” he growls through gritted teeth. “My naughty girl, my hero - take it, take it all.”

She forces herself down further, as he feels his head pressed down her throat, and he stops her movement with his hands in her hair. 

“Oh, you like that, do you?” Slowly, tentatively, he rolls his hips forward. Her eyes widen but she brings her hands up to hold his wrists, keeping him in place. Gradually he quickens his pace, faster and faster as he chases his release. Her eyes never leave his as he gasps, hovering near the edge, and then she _moans_ , a deep quiet hum, and he is _gone_ , mindless, incapable of thought or sound or _anything_ as he holds onto her. He feels her swallow once, twice, and as his aftershocks finally die away she lets his cock drop with a messy grin.

He doesn’t stop to think - he simply bends at the waist to kiss her, to lick her lips, to clean the mess he has made from that lovely skin. She moans into him, her hands pulling at his robes as his tongue laps at hers, but he pulls away from her before he gives in to the temptation to push her to the ground.

They have to get to the Pendants.

“Follow,” he orders, pulling her to her feet. “Follow _now_.”

She trails him up the stairs, her face flushed and her eyes hungry. They stop at the top, just out of sight of the Crystarium guards at the door, and he holds a finger to his lips before he glamours himself in invisibility. The walk past the guards and down the stairs proceeds without incident, but as they reach the ground he can’t resist having a little fun.

Phantom hands caress her chest, her thighs, her neck - she halts with a gasp, her eyes staring blankly ahead, and he lowers his head to her ear. “Is it too much for my hero to take? Walk, Warrior, or be left behind.”

The strength required to take a step forward, and another, and another, is doubled as he sends those invisible hands to cup her breasts and dive between her thighs. She actually staggers, throwing her arms wide for balance, and her hiss of dismay only calls more attention to her. Various passersby stop to check on her, rushing over with concern in their eyes, and Emet-Selch keeps to the shadows as she reassures them she is simply tired.

The crowd finally left behind, her dark eyes snap with anger as they continue their long walk across the Exedra. He can’t take his eyes off her, captivated as he is by this Warrior of Light.

It was intended to be about sex, but - has he ever had so much fun?

She takes the Pendants’ winding staircase at a run, barely slowing once she reaches her floor. He follows at a more sedate pace, catching up to her as she fumbles with the keys to her room. Curses echo off the walls until she finally turns the lock and falls inside, immediately spinning around to watch for him. He follows her and slams the door shut, dropping the glamour the moment they are locked inside.

Who moved first? Who reached first? As her hands grasp layers of his robes in her fists, as his nails slide down her arms, as their mouths meet - hot and wet and eager, so eager - he isn’t thinking about playing the game, about maintaining a distance. He’s thinking about her pleasure, the taste of him on her lips, the skin hiding beneath robes and cloth - he’s thinking about how best to bring her over the edge.

What does he want?

What does _she_ want?

Her hands seek the buckles and belts on his robes, divesting him of his layers. He lets her move his limbs, lets her have this moment of control, but as his undergarments fall to the floor he wrests back authority. His fingers wrap around her wrists and turn her to the side; she sits at the low bench near the door with a snarl. A quick pull at the bottom of her skirts and they are off, pooling in a mess of fabric and feathers on the floor. The shirt can stay - that tangle of string and cloth won’t hinder his plans.

“Hero.” He snaps his fingers and holds one hand up, letting aether pool in his palm as an object begins to take shape. She watches with wide eyes as his dark aether whirls, spinning around his fingers, and finally manifests as a semi-transparent, slightly-curved rod. He tosses the dildo to her and she catches it flawlessly, her eyes on his as her face flushes. “I believe you know what to do with this.”

Her gaze flickers to his half-mast cock and back to the toy in her hands. “Magic cannot solve everything, hmm?”

“It’s not a problem to be solved,” he retorts, moving across the room to lounge at one of the stools at her dining table. He leans back against the surface, propping himself upright with his elbows. His body is on full display, long and lean, and he takes great pleasure in the way her eyes devour him. “What is the rush, hero? We have all night ahead of us and you -” He nods to her hands, “- you know I like to watch.”

Cheeks red and dark eyes flashing, she spreads her legs to him even as she bends her knees, resting her feet on the bench on either side of her. Two fingers spread her folds as she takes the toy in her other hand. He keeps his expression bored, aloof, removed - as though hunger does not course through him, as though he is not holding his breath in anticipation. Embarrassment and lust mingle in her eyes, motivating her not only to obey but to do so with _heat_. 

It isn’t quite voyeurism, not like this, but whatever it is sets his heart pounding. He can’t take his eyes off her as the toy slowly penetrates her, slowly disappears within. Her eyes are on him, dark and wide, and her jaw drops as her hands move. She takes it all with ease, holding it by its bulbous base, and then she begins to slide it in and out. His hands twitch, eager for something to hold, but he stays where he is, stays across the room. Her other hand takes care of her clit, pulsing small circles against her skin. 

“Faster,” he says, his voice loud in the quiet room. 

Teeth biting hard on her bottom lip, she does as she’s told. He can _hear_ her now, hear how wet she is, hear her moans as she takes herself higher. Her toes curl over the side of the bench and she throws her head back, seeming to almost forget about him as she maintains the speed of both hands. 

Finally - _finally_ \- it seems he has begun to recover from her earlier ministrations. He doesn’t move his arms as his body responds to the glorious sight in front of him, as his cock hardens and hovers over his abdomen. 

He could take her. He could snap his fingers, erase the dildo from existence, and take its place before she could even open her eyes -

No, not like that. He wants to see her push herself over the edge. He strokes himself almost lazily; he has no need to rush, no need to catch up. He’s already ahead in this game tonight - it is only fair he gives her a chance on her own. 

“Keep going,” he orders, his voice low. “You like the feel of it, don’t you? Of being watched.” She does not deny it. “Ah, of course you do - you are the Warrior of Light. Have you ever turned down an audience?”

 _That_ manages to irk her. Her brow furrows and her hands stop, but he pounces before she can make a retort. Whatever she’d meant to say is lost as his hands take over, pushing and pulling on the toy as his mouth meets hers. She moans into him as she brings her hands up to both sides of his face; her teeth knick his lips before she curls against him, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

“Come for me, hero,” he says. “I never told you to stop.”

“ _Gods_.” Her shaking hands replace his and he kneels below her, unable to look away as she slides the toy in and out, as shivers take her, as she _finally_ crests. “Emet-Selch!”

He’s there, turning to lie her down on the couch as he kneels between her legs. The toy disappears with a thought and he thrusts into her, feeling her walls constrict as she rides out her pleasure. “My wonderful, strong hero - what a good girl, to do as I say.” She’s panting, eyes glazed and distant; he doesn’t believe she has any clue what he’s saying, but her jaw drops as he rocks his hips back and forth. “My turn.”

He wastes no time taking it slow and steady; watching her pleasure herself has pushed him almost to his limit already. He rests one hand around her neck and forces her head up, angling it so she can look down their torsos. “Watch,” he hisses, and in turn sees her eyes widen at the sight. “Watch me make you mine.” 

“ _Yes_.” Her eyes are locked on him, on the space where they join, and as his speed increases her hands roam up his back. Nails pinch against skin, pulling him deeper. “You feel _so good_.”

That whisper sends a bolt right to his heart. It’s a dangerous, worrisome bolt - not quite lust, not quite desire, but something more: something that could damage him if he lets it. He doesn’t dare dwell on the implications, doesn’t dare consider why it matters so much, doesn’t stop to wonder why this is no longer a game for him.

This was a mistake from the beginning, but -

One more misjudgement. One more scolding from Elidibus. One more regret in a pile he no longer takes the time to weigh.

“ _Now_ , Ascian,” she says, her voice harder, more direct. He meets her dark eyes and recognizes the power within - not quite his equal, no, but still confident enough to meet him toe-to-toe. “I want to feel it.”

Who is he to deny this Warrior of Light? Who he is to think himself beyond such an order, even when he is supposed to be the one in charge?

Dominant, submissive - they’re titles, shields, a curtain he places over his actions to justify what he forces her to do. He knows his past - he knows what he’s done - and if she wants to give him an order, well - 

He’s done that before, too.

He drops his hands to her hips and rocks her back and forth, bringing them together over and over in a crash of sensations. His ending is unexpected; the pleasure catches up with him quickly and he’s over the edge, groaning as his hips buck towards her - but she’s grinding back, taking him even deeper, her voice serenading him right to his end.

“Ah, Ascian,” she croons sleepily, her fingers splaying along the curve of her stomach. “Good b-”

Their eyes meet as she swallows the word, as insecurity flitters across her face. He knows - he _knows_ \- and oh, does he not want it? Is he not eager? 

Perhaps it is his turn to kneel.

He pulls out of her and stands in one quick movement, sliding his arms under her back and knees before she can speak. She cries out in alarm as he lifts her, cradling her against his chest, but falls silent as he carries her to the bed and lays her on it. A snap of his fingers summons dark ropes that wrap around her legs and ankles, tying her bottom half to the bedposts. She is spread wide, dripping onto the mattress, and the look in her eyes - 

He goes to his knees at the edge of the bed, watching the surprise register on her flushed face. She props herself up on her elbows as he moves between her thighs.

“Look at this mess I’ve made,” he murmurs. “My apologies, hero - I shall take care of it.”

“You don’t -” Her voice dies away as he lowers his mouth to her. Her eyes roll back and she falls flat to the bed, any comment she might have made lost to moans. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, pausing to part her folds with his fingers. “My little Warrior.” The taste of them both mingles on his tongue and he licks faster, more forcefully - swirling around and around her clit. Her fingers run through his hair and he takes a moment to register how pleased he is that he left her hands unbound - and then she pulls him closer, forces him deeper, and his ability to reason flees completely. His awareness narrows to the warmth before him and the groans escaping her, his Warrior, his hero.

He isn’t thinking about gods and power, past and present, lines drawn and allies compromised - 

He isn’t thinking about tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after - 

He isn’t thinking about his mistakes - 

By the time she’s sobbing his name, arching her back as his tongue and fingers push her further, she is the only thought he has.


	4. Fortemps Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of the Starlight Celebration at Fortemps Manor, the Warrior of Light issues Hades a challenge.
> 
> Takes place near the beginning of Star Light, Star Bright, the First Fool I See Tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone pointed me towards a twitter request for switch!Emet begging and I got a little carried away...

She’s dancing without him. Her hands are on an Elezen’s back as a smile lights up her face, as her laughter carries across the ballroom. She’s enchanting in that deep green gown, her cheeks pink from laughing and her hair beginning to drift out of its elaborate bun.

Hades stands near one wall, a champagne glass held in a crushing grip. He doesn’t want to watch her but she makes it impossible to look anywhere else; she is fire in a room full of ice. Others stare as well, their uneasy attention wandering between her beauty and his cloud of emotions. A wide berth has formed in his vicinity; no one dares come close when his face looks quite like _that._

Jealousy is not the word for the primal emotion he’s dealing with - tightly-wound excitement, like a hunting cat set to pounce, would be more accurate. She is prey - tasty, tasty prey - but he knows that glint in her eyes. For every new partner she dances with she shoots him a look that freezes him in place, glances that are full of promise for the night to come - 

_If_ he behaves.

So she dances, taking partner after partner, and he stands apart and wills himself not to splinter the glass between his fingers.

“Why haven’t you killed him?”

A twist of his neck brings a woman into view: dark-haired, red-eyed, short for an Elezen. He narrows his eyes as he watches her watch him, leaning against the wall with one boot pressed firmly against that luxurious wallpaper. Crossed arms display muscle and scars quite at odds with most of the ladies in this room; the pistol strapped over her ballgown is the final clue he needs to place her.

“I wasn’t aware half-breeds were invited.”

“Half-breeds and Garleans - this place really has gone to shit.”

He arches an eyebrow. Quicker than he’d expected, and braver, too - she’s the only person to come within ten feet of him since his Warrior started dancing. “You asked why I haven’t killed him?”

She shrugs the smallest of shrugs, her nonchalance both aggravating and, somehow, gratifying. “You’re glaring daggers at him, just like you did at the one before, and the one before that. They’re trying to ignore you, but their awe of her only _just_ outweighs their fear of you.” She tilts her head to one side, a lock of dark hair uncurling from her pins to fall on her bare shoulder. “Should they fear you?”

He snorts and turns back to the dance floor just in time to see the current Elezen dip his Warrior low. “You’re awfully brazen for a guard out of armor.”

“I’m a woman before I’m a guard,” she retorts. He hears her heavy boots on the floor and doesn’t react as she stops beside him, unusually close to his shoulder. “You think this dress isn’t a kind of armor? You think I can’t handle myself?” 

“I think you’ve had a drink.”

“A drink!” She laughs, a loud hoot that turns heads - heads which quickly turn back as soon as they realize who they’re staring at. “I’ve had many, Sir Hades, and the floor beneath me’s as solid as when the night began.” She spins, a coordinated movement that takes her in front of him. When she stops her hand is outstretched and there’s a mischievous twinkle in those deep red eyes. “I’m Hilda, and I think you should dance with me.”

“Why would I ever do that?”

“Because I’ve been told to keep you playing nice, and if the next Elezen that touches her gets splattered across the wallpaper that is decidedly _not_ playing nice.” There’s a warning there, something deeper than he’d expected, and he catches her gaze with newfound interest. Who’d given her an order? Not the Count or his father, surely - how could they possibly guess that he might be dangerous?

Unless the Warrior…

“A dance.”

Her grin shows all of her teeth. “Or two.”

A moment to knock back the champagne in his glass, another to settle the glass on a table behind him, and then his hand slips into hers. He allows her to pull him onto the dancefloor but takes control once they’re there, moving them further from the Warrior of Light and her newest partner. Eyes follow them, curious and worried bystanders who can only guess at the power moving before them.

“You move well,” the half-Elezen says, keeping pace with him as they spin. “I wouldn’t have guessed it - something about all that length, it’s hard to imagine you knowing where to put it.”

He clenches his jaw. As tempting as his retort may be, he dares not say it within earshot of the dozen nobles he’s been ordered to impress.

“But the Warrior - she’s happy, at least. You can’t be _bad_.”

“Are you here to keep me sane or to gossip?” he asks through gritted teeth. He can see his hero dancing with Count Artoirel and something about the man - the look in his eyes, the familiarity of his hands, his rushed whispers as they waltz - sets Hades’s heart pounding. “You’re doing a poor job of both.”

“You want a distraction? _Dance_ with me.” She stomps hard on his toes, making him wince, but her expression is as calm and serene as a child’s. “Dance better than this.”

 _Finally_ taking his eyes off the Warrior of Light, he meets Hilda’s meaningful gaze. If his hero did order her to distract him, and if this is all a part of the game she’s set up, it would be in his best interest to keep his feet moving - to play the part, whatever that may be, in this strange night she’s created.

A moment of sympathy for Hilda drifts across his consciousness before he narrows his eyes. If they want to play games, he’ll show them how he prefers to play.

“You better keep up,” he says, his voice just shy of a growl, before guiding her to the center of the ballroom. As one waltz dies away - and Count Artoirel switches out for his young, foppish brother - Hades pulls Hilda close. There is a moment when dismay flitters across her face, when she begins to suspect she might be in over her head, but then the music starts and it’s too late to back down.

In every life he’s led, every body he’s worn, Hades has always been a dancer. His favourite society to immerse himself in is one which has invented the waltz, as there is little he enjoys quite so much as the synchronized movements of so many bodies in motion. 

Of course, there is dancing - and then there is _dancing_. One might argue what he does behind closed doors is a kind of dance - what is the harm, after all, in combining the two?

His magical phantom hands caress Hilda’s thighs and arms, whispers of fingertips gliding against hot skin. A brilliant flush blooms up her neck and cheeks and her garnet eyes - curious, worried, just a touch fearful - meet his sleepy gold ones. 

“By the Fury,” she mutters, allowing him to dip her low and then pull her chest-to-chest. “By the fucking Fury.”

“You asked me to dance.” Those invisible hands move upwards from her thighs, caressing her stomach and ribs. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the Warrior of Light watching them; there’s a light in her eyes that, inexplicably, makes Hades want to laugh from nerves.

She’s taken the bait, but reeling in this catch may be more than he bargained for.

The speed of the song increases; he sees other dancers leave the floor laughing and tired, but he keeps Hilda spinning, his fingers - both real and made from aether - pressing against her arms, her back, her hips. Her eyes are glazed, though she still manages to keep up.

“How does she survive you?” Hilda mutters, quickening her pace to keep up with his feet. 

“Mayhap _I’ve_ simply learned how to survive _her_.”

“No.” She shakes her head, her eyes distant. “No, I don’t want to know.”

“Who ordered you to keep me entertained?”

“You know who.”

“Why?” The dance is building; he’s working hard not to pant as the speed increases more and more. Most other dancers have left the floor - it is only he and Hilda, and his Warrior and the Fortemps boy, keeping pace - and it’s generous to say anything so kind regarding the state of Artoirel’s young brother, as the poor Elezen is crimson-faced and sweating.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Foolish.” He lifts her, a quick movement up and then around, but as she comes down to the ground he sends those phantom hands back up her thighs. “I’d thought you better trained.”

“I’d thought you a softer mark.” She shivers in his arms but remains as surefooted as ever. “Remind me not to meddle with mages again.”

“Ah, I think you’ll be fine with most mages - we two are rather particular, all told.”

The look she gives him is direct and brooks no room for nonsense. “And what are you, really?”

There is a moment of hesitation - which truth to tell? - before he allows himself a small smile. “The Warrior of Light’s lover.”

Shock ripples through her, throwing her off-balance, but the song finally comes to a close. He lets her go and bows low, dispelling his phantom hands as he does. She belatedly curtsies, her red eyes wide, and grabs his arm before he can walk away.

“You love her?” she asks in a hushed voice. 

“I always have.” He gently removes her fingers from his sleeve, raising her hand to his lips for a quick kiss against her knuckles. “Thank you for the dance, Hilda.”

“It was - it was educational.” Her eyes widen and she jerks her chin towards something behind him. “Go on.”

He turns to find the dance floor nearly filled again, happy couples swirling to a slower song, but his attention is drawn to the lone motionless figure in the center of the floor. His hero stands alone, arms crossed over her chest, and that glint in her eyes - 

Hades swallows hard. He knows that look.

Invisible hands caress his shoulders before gliding down his back. He inhales sharply, eyes never leaving hers, and watches her move to him. She glides through the dancing Elezen effortlessly, sidestepping each pair until she stands in front of him. Those phantom hands - _her_ phantom hands - pass his waist and stop just below, cupping his ass.

He arches an eyebrow, attempting to look as though this isn’t having an effect on him even as bolts of liquid heat pulse through his abdomen.

One finger on his chest, she leans towards him. Her ridiculous festive hat has skewed backwards but he barely glances at it, as enraptured as he is by her eyes. “You were supposed to play nice.”

“Was I not?” His voice comes out low and husky, and he sees the effect it has on her as a red flush tints her cheeks. “My apologies, hero.”

She glides past him without a word, her fingers wrapping around his wrist to pull him after her.

The reactions of the Elezen around them vaguely register in Hades’s consciousness - shock, confusion, even a little disapproval. Some must guess why their Warrior of Light is making for the exit so early in the evening, but as she throws opens the ballroom doors he finds he just does not care.

Her magical hands still caressing his ass and thighs, he attempts to slow her down, to tug back on the hand that guides him, but her nails dig into his wrist and pull harder. She has her goal in mind and she means to see it through.

Not that he has any complaints, save for the sake of propriety, but - 

She makes a sharp turn at a door he hadn’t noticed and pushes him inside the small, dark space.

“A linen closet?”

“Kneel, Ascian.”

 _That_ is a tone of voice he always obeys. He drops wordlessly, narrow shelves on three sides and her rustling gown beside him. His hands find her bare legs and risk a quick touch before she makes an odd movement, something like a jump. In the dark it takes him a moment to realize she’s hoisted herself up to sit on one of the shelves, placing her hips…

Hades licks his lips. 

“Here,” she says, one hand wrapping around the back of his head to pull him between her legs and under her dress. “Consider this dessert.”

“I thought naughty boys were sent to their room?” he asks in a mocking tone. He can’t see a thing in front of him, but with her thighs on either side of his head it’s impossible not to know what lies ahead. 

“You think I can walk that far? After watching you dance?” She scoffs at him and lets her gown fall over his head, hiding him underneath. “Eat, boy, before we’re found.”

His lips touch her folds, gentle and soft, and she hisses above him. She wants him to be quick but he - 

He is not feeling nice. 

Dropping small kisses along her skin, he slowly moves up and down her before pausing over her clit. A gentle breath of air is all it takes to make her gasp; her thighs squeeze against his ears as she curses. 

_“Hades.”_ A desperate growl, an order disguising a warning, a single word that thrills him. “If you don’t get on with it I’m going to go back out there and pick the first Elezen I see to -”

His tongue plunges into her wetness before he can discover what she’d make the Elezen do. Her threat turns to babble, gasps and moans, little noises of pleasure as he licks her, tastes her, teases her. His rhythm is slow but steady, stopping only so he can occasionally suck at her tender skin. 

Hands drop onto his head, unable to grab at his hair thanks to the barrier her dress provides, but it’s enough leverage for her to thrust her hips towards him. He allows it - what choice does he have, kneeling at her feet? - and sits meekly as she grinds against his face, as he keeps his tongue moving, as her wetness spreads over his lips and chin. 

“Such a good boy,” she moans, rocking her hips back. “He knows what he likes, doesn’t he? He likes to be _used_.”

Since his cock is already straining against his pants he can’t really disagree, but he doesn’t stop to tell her so. She knows full well what she does to him - just as she knows what he’ll allow her to do to him. 

Footsteps outside the door render her mute, but he doesn’t stop. Muffled voices carry through the wood, quiet enough to be indiscernible if constant. Her fingers tap frantically on his head as he sucks on her clit, a warning he chooses to ignore as he presses ever closer to her. 

“Shit,” she hisses, her voice muffled by what he assumes is her own hand. “Oh, not now, not now, not - _Hades!”_

That last is higher, frantic, squealed. He senses his moment and sneaks his waiting fingers into her, sliding two right to the knuckle as he sucks hard. She crests in an instant, shuddering with the effort of keeping quiet. Her hips buck against him as her hands flutter against his head, as she pulses around his fingers. They ride it out together, him drinking her down as she fights to stay silent. 

Her thighs finally relax and he gives her one more kiss before he flounders his way past the bottom of her dress, coming up to a light blue glow. A flicker of light dances on her open palm, held at chest height as her eyes glare daggers. 

“Apologies again,” he murmurs, moving forward over her legs to wrap his arms around her waist. “Have I still misbehaved?”

Humour and desire almost win, but she holds onto her mask long enough. Powerful fingers hold his chin in place as she twists to kiss him, her tongue dancing with his, and then she pushes him away. 

“Stand,” she orders quietly, sliding off the shelf, but as he rises to his full height her self-control wavers. He watches her neck as she swallows hard, watches her tongue dart out to lick her lips, watches her eyes drift below his waist. 

Dominant she may be - for now. 

The voices outside the door finally fade and she dives past him, throwing it wide while extinguishing the light in her hand. He almost loses her shape in the brightness of the hall beyond, but her hand clamps over his wrist and drags him after her. 

They pass no one between the closet and her bedroom, which Hades considers a small miracle. His excitement is rather impossible to hide, and she has a look to her that can only be described as molten. 

Magic slams open her bedroom door before they reach it; she pulls him inside and spins him in time for him to watch her fingers snap. The door latches and locks behind her as the candles around the room suddenly burst into flame, and he finds himself standing a few feet away from her. 

He wants her beneath him. He wants to take, and take, and take. Watching her dance with other men has driven his need to a sharpened focus: to claim what is _his_. 

That look in her eyes hasn’t changed. She is not backing down, not baring her neck, not willing to play submissive. Rather than wait for whatever quip she might make, Hades moves. His momentum takes them both across the room; her back hits the wall hard and his hands press and hold her against it. Lips, tongue, teeth - he takes it all, bruising and biting her in his need to overpower her. 

He senses her hands come up a second too late. 

A shield blooms between them, flinging him back on his heels with enough force to rattle the furniture. He manages to keep upright, skidding to a stop near the foot of the bed. 

She stands near the wall, lipstick smudged down her chin and a grin on her face that makes him bite back a moan. “Oh, you bastard.” Her fingers gently touch the skin around her lips; she shakes her head when she sees them come away red. “ _Kneel_ , Ascian.”

Those phantom hands are back, forcing him down hard. He falls to his knees and catches himself on his hands, the plush carpet soft beneath his palms. Pressure against the back of his head forces him to stay down; he realizes she is using him to balance as she pulls her shoes off her feet. 

“I’m in charge tonight, understood?” The pressure is gone from his head, though the ghostly hands on his shoulders remain. He can just see the tips of her toes, painted a brilliant crimson. “You’re going to do as I say.” The toes vanish as she walks away. “If you do…” A new phantom finger presses firmly against his ass and he immediately closes his eyes and groans, going so far as to press back against it, almost as if - 

The finger vanishes a moment too soon. He is left shivering, panting, listening to the pounding of his own heartbeat. 

He won’t ask. 

He won’t barter. 

He won’t beg.

But if she could just bring back that touch -

“Stand.”

The pressure on his shoulders is gone. Again he levers himself upright at her orders, finding her watching him from across the room. 

“Let’s see - hmm.” She snaps her fingers and his clothes vanish in an instant. 

“There are times I regret teaching you that,” he murmurs, willing himself not to shiver even as the cold air wafts against him. 

“I don’t,” she says. Her eyes are on his cock. “Get your ass on the bed, Ascian. Who would have thought a Garlean would be so affected by cold?”

“I had robes,” he complains, even as he crawls onto the ridiculously poofy duvet. “Big, layered ones, with fluffy collars and velvet sleeves. Do you know how many drafts went down the back of my neck with those on?” He flips onto his back to find her leaning against one of the bedposts at the foot of the bed, a hand covering her open mouth. “Do I _bore_ you?”

She finishes her yawn and snaps a quick grin at him. “Only when you complain. Which is often enough.”

“The indignity.”

“The eye-candy.” Indeed, her gaze roams across his chest, waist, and thighs in a way that makes him feel more like food than a living being. “Spread out, Ascian. I have plans for you.”

He splays himself on the bed, legs and arms reaching to either side. One more snap of her fingers and he is bound by white ropes - another trick he’d taught her, another lesson she’d learned very, very well. 

The first time she’d tied him had been a test of patience and trust, a maddening adventure in what it means to be powerless. Now Hades understands he has a different kind of power when his hands are bound, a different kind of role to play. He does not whimper, or wince, or pull at the ropes: he waits, watching and wanting. 

A shrug of her shoulders and her gown cascades to the floor. Her lithe frame, masked somewhat by the shadows each candle throws, crawls onto the bed at his feet. She straddles one thigh, one hand on his hip as the other -

He swallows hard. A delicate white feather stretches beyond her fingers; he knows what is coming a moment before her magic dims his sight. Darkness takes him and he fights not to tense, fights to breathe normally, to calm his nerves and his excitement - but the gentlest of touches, that feather in her fingers, whispers along his chest. He cannot help but arch his back, curling towards that faint touch as though it is a promise of pleasure. She moves it down his ribs, first one side and then the other, and the sensation seems to carry beyond where it touches until his entire torso is aflame.

“What did you think of Edmont?”

His breath hisses between his teeth. “We’re not doing this now, are we?”

That feather trails along the inside of his thighs and he can’t hide his sudden gasp, though she speaks as though she did not hear. “Why not? I’m curious.”

Hades can only grimace. He tries to put that roaming feather out of his mind to answer her question. “He seems - decent. Noble, prone to caution, welcoming to strangers.”

“And his sons?”

“Not quite so welcoming to strangers.” 

“Perhaps they found you threatening.” She glides the feather along the underside of his cock, a slow, careful movement that pushes all thought from his mind. As badly as he wants her to continue, the feather moves back to his ribs. “Do you agree?”

He has no idea. He wants that feather back below his waist, he wants her hands on his skin, he wants _touch_ \- real and hot and heavy. Forcing air into his lungs, he answers through gritted teeth, “I believe they dislike the thought of me in your bed.”

Her bed shifts as she switches positions, moving from his thigh to the empty space beside him. Her knees brush against his side and that fleeting moment of touch - _solid touch_ \- causes him to shiver. “And why do you think that is?”

“Damned if I -” He cuts himself off. He’d almost said care, but he _does_ \- in the ballroom, at dinner, from the first moment he shook their hands, he’d sensed their disapproval and immediately understood why. They knew he isn’t a mere friend, a tag-along she’d picked up somewhere along the way, and though he may not care what they think of _him…_

“You are here by my invitation,” she murmurs, understanding his silence. “As any others have been. They know I wouldn’t have you otherwise.”

That _any others_ comment rattles him - here? In this bed? - but that damn feather glides along the sides of his cock and any thought of jealousy is drowned by lust.

“Such a mess,” she whispers. “Here.” One finger swipes at the head of his cock, the sudden physical sensation sending waves of pleasure through him, and moments later he feels it rest against his lips. Obedient as always, he opens his mouth to lick her finger clean.

“And Hilda? What did you think of her?”

“A passable distraction.”

_“Passable?”_

“I would rather have danced with you.”

A tiny huff of a sigh escapes her. “You know why we couldn’t.”

Confusion lasts only a moment before understanding dawns. “To give them a chance to be a part of your story,” he says quietly. “To be a part of the Warrior of Light’s life, if only for a dance.”

“Some need to know I’m real. Others need to see that I’m no different from them - too many think I’m a name to be revered.”

“I do.”

The feather taps against his chest. “Well - I don’t mind the sight of _you_ on your knees.”

He snorts, but his retort is lost as that feather dives back between his thighs, flicking occasionally over the base of his cock. It is frustratingly simple, alternating between each leg, but without sight he is unable to predict where she’ll touch next.

Her finger again swipes his excitement from the head of his cock. He moans and tightens his arms, pulling at the upper ropes in a fruitless attempt to lift his hips off the bed.

“Mayhap I too am in the mood for dessert.”

He clenches his teeth together. He isn’t going to say it. Without sight he cannot see her expression, cannot read her emotions, but he knows what she wants. 

Pride chokes his voice, as it always does.

The flat of her tongue against the underside of his cock sends waves straight to his toes. He moans and throws his head back, expecting her to take him in her mouth, but she stops there. A pause that lasts one moment - and another - and another - 

And again with that damned feather!

Hades curses under his breath, clenching and unclenching his hands. It isn’t so hard, to say the word. One word, a second of his time, a moment shared only with her. 

But _still_ \- 

Her lips kiss his inner thighs - one, and then the other - and he sinks his teeth into his lip to keep from groaning. She is so, so close - he can feel her hair as it brushes against his skin, feel her breath as she moves back and forth, feel the bed sink as she continues to shift her weight - but she never puts her hands on him. Her lips and tongue taste his flesh, and that bloody feather caresses every inch of him, but she goes no further.

Unable to see or move, his world narrows to those tiny touches. His breathing becomes erratic and he fights the urge to squirm, to resist, to overpower those damned ropes and put his hands on her. All he wants is her hand on his cock - her mouth - her fingers - her body on him, pressure, feeling, a release from this infernal teasing! He wants her to ride him, to take the length of him until she’s had her fill, to grind against him with her hands on his chest. 

To be free of these ropes, that he might flip her over and lift her feet above her head, curl his body over hers, pound into her again and again and again - 

“Hades.”

He lets loose a whimper, the smallest sliver of sound, and in an instant the magic blinding his sight is gone. He tilts his head and stares at the sight before him: his hero, kneeling over his thighs, gently takes him in hand. His jaw clenches as he watches her line him up, but she doesn’t sink onto him; rather, she rubs the head of him back and forth. It is the slightest of touches, barely more forceful than the feather, and he can do naught but stare.

“You want me?” Her face contorts into a snarl. “Beg.”

He won’t - but he _wants_! He wants that body, what lies between those thighs, he wants what comes next. Limbs taut with exertion, the ropes pulling at his wrists and ankles, his cock throbbing in her hands - he meets her dark eyes, stares into that face he loves - 

“Please!” It escapes in a growl, but as desire overturns pride - as his walls crumble, as all reservations flee him completely, as her folds begin to part for him - he finally finds his tongue. “Please, hero, just - just -”

“Hero, he calls me,” she taunts, sliding ever-so-slightly down his cock. “Hero, and Warrior, and woman. You enjoy that, don’t you? Ever since that time in the Pendants - you enjoyed fucking Hydaelyn’s daughter.”

“I did - I _do_.”

“I heard you say something new tonight.” Again she sinks lower, taking more of him into her depths. “Something different.” That glint sparkles in her eyes again, that dangerous, alluring, fascinating look. “ _Lover_ , you said.”

Some small part of him seems to crystallize, like glass below a hammer. He hadn’t meant for her to hear that - he hadn’t meant for it to reach anyone’s ears save Hilda’s. “I did.”

“Say it again.”

His heart turns molten. “Lover,” he croons, feeling her tighten around him. 

_“Mine,”_ she retorts, and bends her knees to take all of him. He barely has a chance to react to her sudden warmth before she’s riding him, her hands on either side of his shoulders as she takes him again, and again, and again. She is relentless, pushing him through wave after wave of pleasure as he groans and curses and arches his back. 

To go from her simple teasing to _this_? To feel her pound against him, to hear that slap of skin against skin as she moans, to see her take her pleasure as he’s helpless to do anything but watch?

Hades does not last much longer.

“Together,” she says, shifting her weight so she can sit up straight. “Together, _oh_!”

The ropes vanish and he’s up in an instant, his hands under her ass to give her more leverage, his mouth on her breast as she bounces in his lap. Nails pierce his shoulders as she arches her back into him.

“Yes, yes, yes!” She’s yelling now, heedless of who might hear - and he finds he doesn’t care. Let them hear! Let them imagine. “Come for me, come for your hero -”

“ _Fuck_.” He buries his face in her cleavage as he loses control, cresting inside her, filling her. She hits her peak a moment later, her gasp morphing into a cry while her entire body shudders against him, her thighs quaking as she grinds into his lap.

A few hot, frantic moments pass before either of them are capable of anything save breathing. He wraps his arms around her, enjoying her warm skin against his, her heaving chest against his head, her fingers still tight against his shoulders. Aftershocks ripple through her, little shudders and shakes he cannot help but love. He attempts to kiss her but she pulls back, quickly swiping her hand below her before bringing it to his lips.

“Taste,” she says, that look in her eyes like a dare.

Obedient to the very end, Hades opens his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoosh. Thanks for reading!


	5. Fortemps Manor II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Directly following Hades and WoL's romp through Fortemps Manor, Hades finds himself awake in the middle of the night. He is not alone, however...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all you who've ever had to interrupt the action to hunt for nail clippers: I see you, I feel you, I am you. One day we’ll think of this shit before the pants come off.

Hades wakes to near-darkness. He blinks at the canopy above his head; his half-asleep mind takes a moment to remember where he is.

Ishgard. Starlight Celebration. Fortemps Manor.

He’d been tied to this bed mere hours earlier.

There is a disorienting moment when he can’t be sure what woke him, lying flat on his back with the heavy duvet weighing him down - 

He understands when a warm tongue slides over his cock.

Hades shows no sign that he is awake; rather, he closes his eyes and gives himself over to her ministrations. His hero takes her time down below the covers, clearly in no rush to see him to his end - she is doing well enough without any encouragement from him.

When a phantom hand traces his jaw, gliding slowly along his skin before pausing at his lips, he realizes he is a fool to think she doesn’t already know. The hand descends down his chest, pulling the duvet back with it to reveal his hero, coiled between his legs with both hands on his cock. 

“Fuck.” He can only watch, limbs taut with pressure, as her mouth slowly takes the length of him. Her tongue flicks along his base and he drops his head back with a moan. It jumps in volume as she slides one finger between his cheeks, pressing firmly against - 

“Ah, my villain.” Admiration warms her voice as she kneels between his legs, one hand still on his cock as the other teases his ass. “A pity I’ve done my nails tonight.”

“Break them.” Concentration is a slippery, elusive thing. Though her voice cuts through some of his haze, his entire focus centers on her hands. “Bite them off, file them down - I’ll wait. I promise, I’ll wait.”

“As if I’d let you do anything else.” She removes both her hands and his muscles turn slack, shivering with longing and disappointment. “I thought maybe tomorrow -”

“Tonight.” Their eyes meet and he remembers his place, remembers what is required of him, and swallows hard. His voice is a whisper. “Please.”

Her eyes stay locked on his as she crawls up his chest, stopping on all fours as she looms over him. “The Ascian wants me to take him on hands and knees, is that it? He wants to be fucked.” Her nails prick his chest, undoubtedly sharp, and she raises an eyebrow. “You misbehaved. I can’t give you _everything_ you want.” She rolls off of him and the bed before he can speak, moving to a side table against the wall. Her back is to him, blocking his view, but she picks up something before returning to the bed.

Though he’s disappointed, he can’t stop from watching her. She climbs onto the bed and walks carefully across it to stand over his chest, dimly lit by a hint of moonlight through the curtains, and his eyes focus on the nail file in her hands.

“Keep me busy,” she murmurs, taking two careful steps on either side of his head. Her knees fold under her and she drops to kneel over his face. “I have nails to fix.”

He moves before she finishes speaking, wrapping his arms under her thighs so his hands can support her back. His tongue dives eagerly into her warmth yet again, licking small, purposeful patterns against her skin. She’s wet against him, slick with excitement, and he devours her as he watches her scrape the nail file back and forth. An impatient frown furrows her brow but she makes no sound; she gives no indication that he is there at all, until - 

“There.” She holds out her hand, fingers spread. “It’ll do.” Her gaze slides to him. “You know what you’re going to do, don’t you?”

He licks his lips. “I do.”

One hand lowers to his hair, running through it as she grinds against his mouth one last time. “Good boy.” She stands and maneuvers herself off the bed, tossing the file onto the dresser and picking up a small jar instead. “Did we do this often? Before?”

He bites his tongue. They have spoken little of their lives before the Sundering; he has avoided the topic out of respect for her. That she should choose to mention it _now…_

“‘Often’ is not quite the word,” he finally admits, his voice uncharacteristically high.

She moves back between his legs, sitting on her ankles as she slides her knees under his thighs. Her position forces him to bend his own knees, but just as his pride begins to complicate his actions she leans over to tease him with her tongue. He groans and he closes his eyes - and in that moment her slick finger slides inside him.

A loud moan escapes him, ending almost in a whine as her finger delves slowly deeper. He wants to push his hips lower - to take all of her - but she is still in control. He can only quiver under her, lost in sensations as her tongue teases him while her finger slides in and out.

“Ah, my Hades,” she murmurs, pausing a moment to lick her lips. “You can take more than that, can’t you?”

His whole body tenses as she adds another finger. He presses the heels of his hands against his forehead as his teeth pierce his bottom lip; it has been a long, _long_ time since he has been played with in such a way.

“Not too much, I hope?”

“No,” he gasps. “Don’t stop, please - oh, _please_!”

She laughs with his cock in her mouth, the vibrations setting his poor brain spinning. His hands drop to the sheets, clawing into the fabric even as she pushes deeper into him, and his hips buck uncontrollably. She suddenly sits up, replacing her mouth with her free hand, and gives him a sleepy-eyed grin. “I think we would both agree I rode you well earlier.”

“We would,” he gasps, resisting the urge to close his eyes. How can she possibly expect him to hold a conversation while her hands do _that_?

“I believe it’s only fair you repay the favour.”

“I -” He cuts himself off, masking his disappointment as her fingers slide out of him and she shifts away, clearly waiting for him to move. “Of course.”

Another night, perhaps. Another place, another room, another chance to experiment. 

But to go to all the effort to cut her nails, for so short a time…?

It isn’t until they’ve switched positions - her on her back and he between her legs - that he notices the glint in her eyes. His heart skips and he swallows hard, keeping his eyes locked on hers even as his cock slides into her. Her hands grasp his hips and force him deeper, taking him right to the hilt - and then one of those hands slides lower, past the curve of his ass, and he can only gape like an idiot - 

“Gods.” He braces his arms as his entire body begins to shiver; she tightens around him even as her finger slips inside him. The dual sensations nearly render him senseless - he wants to close his eyes and give in to it, to push himself over the edge as quickly as he can - but she is still in charge, regardless of what position they are in. He lowers his head, keeping his eyes locked on hers, and begins to thrust. As his cock slides back her finger slides in, creating a loop of pleasure that intensifies as he picks up his pace.

“Tell me, Hades.” Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, her pupils wide: she is having just as much fun as he is. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Own me,” he growls, speeding up the pace and intensity of his thrusts. The slap of skin against skin fills the room just as the headboard begins to hit the wall; a small voice tells him he should tone it down - and he ignores it. “Use me, control me, fuck me - like you know best.”

“Like I know best,” she repeats, her dark eyes glazed. She gasps as she clenches around him, taking a moment to regain her composure. “ _Tell me_ \- what do you want me to do?”

He pauses his thrusts, gasping over her, and she seizes the moment to insert a second finger. “You know,” he groans through clenched teeth. “You _know_.”

“Say it.”

He thrusts once, making her moan. Again, and her eyelids flutter. Again, harder now, and her head tilts back. Over and over as anger and embarrassment war with love and desire, trust and compassion, pride and old fear - 

She knows what he wants. She’ll give it to him, and enjoy doing it -

He only needs to put aside his pride to voice it. 

“Hades.” A warning, a sign, a reminder - his speed is driving them both closer to the edge, but she isn’t going to let that happen. He has to say it, has to play this game, has to find the words -

“Fuck me,” he snarls, his eyes meeting hers. She moans high and loud, and his pride is swamped by fierce need. “Bend me over the bed, hero, and fuck me _hard_.”

“Just wait,” she gasps, that glint in her eyes that drives him mad. “Just wait until you feel _my_ cock.”

“ _Hero_ -”

“Come for me, villain.”

Hades does not need to be told twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself no plot or character development in Xtra Bits - I'm not sure if moving their bedroom games forward counts as character development (the next chapter could be called _How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Let Her Peg Me_ tbh) but I'm rolling with it anyway.


End file.
